


Don’t Drop the Box

by vivacious_turpitude



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Slight Dom/Sub Dynamics, Trans Character, Trans Daniel Jacobi, Trans Male Character, but like it's not super noticeable, i just wrote him that way in my heart, just. kepler as his own warning., look it's kepcobi did u think it'd be vanilla???, some brief BDSM stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22592614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivacious_turpitude/pseuds/vivacious_turpitude
Summary: Jacobi reminisces about the first time he and Kepler had sex
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Don’t Drop the Box

Jacobi had always been sure the first time he and Kepler had sex would be angry.

Maybe he’d get a little too mouthy or Kepler’d crowd him against a doorframe and he’d let out an embarrassing moan or they’d fall into bed to blow off steam at the end of a failed mission.

Maybe he’d get to hear Kepler order Maxwell out of the room so they could fuck, voice raspy and patience seconds from snapping, demanding she “vacate the premises” so he could “deal with _this_.” And oh, the delicious anger verging on disgust in his voice as he would spit the word “ _this_ ” while staring straight at Jacobi with those murderous eyes... it made Jacobi shiver pleasantly just to think of it.

But in fact, that came after the first time. In fact, the first time wasn’t angry at all.

Later, much much later, Jacobi would talk to Eiffel about how Kepler loved to push. He would carefully leave out some examples of Kepler’s pushing—

 _his face, hot and red, tear tracks and sweat and all screwed up in pleasurepain, strung out and spitted on the bed and Kepler’s hand teasing along his flank, gentling him and riling him up simultaneously while he begged, whined really, piteously, “_ no more, please, I can’t come agai-” _before Kepler cut him off with a slap, sharp and hard across his already-reddened ass, whispering cool and certain and just a little bit dangerous, “_ you can and you _will_ ” _and oh, Jacobi did. He did and he did and he did._

—in favor of those more suitable for polite company. But that first time? It had been without push.

It had all started ironically similar to the story he’d shared with Eiffel. An op gone horribly, horribly wrong. This time a “special item extraction” for Cutter’s shadowy partner in crime— a fancy name for a bank robbery in the name of some stranger.

Things had begun to go wrong almost immediately— the vault door, for which they were supposed to know the combination, wouldn’t open and Jacobi had had to use his emergency explosives to get in. This was inconvenient both because it alerted the banking staff to the not-quite-legal nature of their endeavor earlier than planned and because, as it turned out, the vault door was only the beginning of the emergency. Bad news all around.

After finally extracting the aforementioned item (so special it warranted its own indestructible Little Black Box), Jacobi had crouched over his scavenged supplies and begun to assemble some makeshift explosives. Kepler was standing tall and imposing between Jacobi’s hunched form and the blown-out vault door. He was posed with an easy grace, looking like he’d stepped off the set of an old western, smoking cigarette for his left hand, smoking gun for his right. He lazily blew smoke rings, pursing his lips and darting his tongue in ways Jacobi felt were quite frankly obscene. Not to mention distracting.

They both heard the sound of footsteps, a minute or so away, and as Kepler straightened himself up and readied his gun, he said nonchalantly, “Y’know, Jacobi, if you get us out of here in the next 3 minutes, I’ll make you come so hard you scream.”

And then before Jacobi could reply, the intruders came upon the room and the air was thick with the sound of gunfire and Jacobi put the finishing touches on some of the dodgiest bombs he’d ever put together, but they would work all the same, and there was no more thinking, only running and explosions and smoke. Ducking into an alleyway a few blocks from the now-smoking bank entrance, Jacobi let himself start to think again. He began to fill in his surroundings in bits and pieces.

 _One_ , the black box containing the Special Item was digging into the softness of his stomach.

 _Two_ , it was digging into Kepler as well, suspended between their closely-pressed bodies.

 _Three_ , his nose was tucked right below the hinge of Kepler’s jaw.

 _Four_ , Kepler smelled like smoke and gunpowder and soap and, underneath that, like sweat and man.

Jacobi liked the smell, and was raising his head to say something inane to that effect when, _five_ , he saw Kepler’s eyes, murky and dark and _hungry_ , looking right at him, and his words choked in his throat.

And Kepler leaned in, mouth next to Jacobi’s ear, and whispered, more statement than question, “ready for your reward?”

And Jacobi had nodded, shaky and fast, bumping his nose on Kepler’s shoulder in his enthusiasm.

“Good,” Kepler purred, “now hold this.”

He handed Jacobi the black box.

“And if you drop it,” he continued, with sudden seriousness “I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Then, playfully, he added, “got it?”

Jacobi’s brown eyes were wide but he grasped the box firmly and nodded like an obedient bobblehead.

“Wonderful,” Kepler murmured before pressing Jacobi against the dirty cinderblock wall and devouring his mouth.

Jacobi shuddered and moaned into the kiss, trying to press himself against Kepler, who pushed him back insistently. There was fire in the kiss, yes, but controlled. Not weaker for it, but the force was being rationed, like the allotment of a certain amount of oil to light a lamp for a certain period of time.

Kepler began to suck and bite down the side of Jacobi’s neck. Jacobi let out a high-pitched whine and offered it readily to Kepler’s ministrations. His body kept tensing and relaxing by turns, his hips squirming upward insistently. Kepler let out an indulgent chuckle against the prickling skin of his neck and moved his hands to steady Jacobi’s erratic hip movements. He maneuvered his leg between Jacobi’s parted thighs, pressing up with his leg and pressing Jacobi down with his strong, square hands. Jacobi’s eyes went glassy and he began to bite his chapped lips to stifle his own panting moans.

Kepler turned back to his task, biting his way to Jacobi’s collarbone, and Jacobi began to move. As he rutted against Kepler’s muscled thigh, soft begging whines escaped through the ineffectual gnawing of his lips.

Kepler looked up from his task with swollen lips and a wicked grin.

“Don’t drop the box when you come,” he reminded Jacobi, his voice hoarse and dripping with sin.

And that reminder, that casual reminder of Kepler’s threat, of the death found in the hands currently wrapped around Jacobi’s waist, was all that it took. Head hitting painfully against the cinderblock, eyes squinched shut, leaking tears, teeth biting through his lip to keep quiet, tasting the subsequent flood of blood on his tongue, hand tightening on the box, white knuckled, Jacobi came.

**Author's Note:**

> i dug this out of an old notebook, i'd wrote it years ago, hope it's still good!
> 
> if u liked it, comment! comments water my crops and clear my skin!


End file.
